Only Francis Would Want to Get Into Merlin's Pants
by montparnas
Summary: In which Alfred is an idiot of a Champion, Arthur reminds him of this on a daily basis, and Matthew generally goes unnoticed.
1. Enter the Hero

Writing this for my awesome, fantastical, amazing friend Bailey for her birthday in April. I hope you like it, Bailey!

I don't own Hetalia or Harry Potter.

The stars blinked as Arthur finally finished his notes. Had he chosen his classes, Astronomy would have been rejected in favor of an extra Potions course. He had not been so lucky. Alfred had been particularly insistent that they take the same courses and now here he was.

"'Ey, Artie!"

The cheerful voice made him turn, dropping a page of notes. It fluttered down to the lake where it would most likely disintegrate into pulp or be eaten by a Grindylow—not exactly known for their intelligence.

"You idiot," Arthur spat, looking remorsefully at his lost notes. Alfred, however, didn't seem to share his sentiments.

"So, Artie," he continued, falling into step with Arthur as they made their way down the staircase to the corridor, "'dya think you'll enter your name?"

"No."

"What?" Alfred's face dropped. "But why?"

"I don't want to," replied Arthur simply. "I have better things to do with my time than get chased around by various dangerous creatures."

Alfred looked disappointed. He sighed, hanging his head.

"Well, I was gonna enter my name today, so… I'd best be off, then."

He sulked away, boarding a staircase to take him to the first floor before he had a chance to think better of it. It was a stupid thing, really, Alfred rationalized, but it seemed like so much… fun?

Arthur stood behind him, arms crossed in impatience.

"I'm coming with you, idiot," Arthur said, cheeks flushing slightly. Alfred's grin returned and he slung an arm across Arthur's shoulders.

"Thought you never would, man."

"I won't if you don't unhand me this instant," Arthur grumbled, swatting the arm off. "Git."

The staircase stopped in place none too gently and the two stepped off. A horde of first years scrambled on and Alfred smiled.

"Remember first year, Art?" he asked as he folded his arms behind his head, a wave of nostalgia hitting him.

"Do I remember you hitting on Moaning Myrtle before getting scared out of the bathroom? Yes, I do."

Alfred blanched.

"That was… interesting, to say the least," he amended after a while. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he turned to Arthur again, smiling.

"What?"

"Nothing," replied Alfred. "Just smilin'."

One of the things Arthur hated most about his American companion was his accent. His stupid, American accent. It rather grated on his ears. At least it wasn't Southern; otherwise he'd have to pull his hair out.

That wasn't to say they were enemies. From their first year, Alfred and Arthur had been best friends and virtually inseparable, different houses be damned.

Arthur tightened his hold on his schoolbag and followed Alfred to the Great Hall, where the Goblet took residence. Alfred found a piece of parchment, scrawling his name upon it before exchanging nervous glances with Arthur.

"Well, he said, hands shaking, "Here goes nothing."

He stepped over the Age Line, hand immediately going to his chin.

"Don't be stupid. You're of the required age."

"Yeah. Well. Never hurt to check."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

_Can't say you weren't worried._

_Touché._

Alfred finally put the scrap in the Goblet, lingering for a moment. When no fireworks or anything of the sort appeared, he shrugged and stepped back, matching Arthur's stride as they made their way to the main corridor. They bade each other farewell, Arthur proceeding to the dungeons and Alfred continuing upstairs to the third floor. He muttered "skrewt" to the portrait and it swung open, the Fat Lady giving a merry giggle in return. She had always been fond of him. But then, she had always been fond of foreigners. Too bad Beauxbatons students were rooming with the Ravenclaws this year and the eastern Europeans preferred to stay in the Durmstrang ship. There was a blond Dane in Gryffindor, but he was awfully loud and obnoxious, even for Alfred's standards.

His brother stood from the overstuffed armchair where he had been doing his homework and confronted him.

"Did you enter?" His eyes were panicked.

Alfred merely grinned in reply, eyes twinkling behind wire rims. Matthew shook his head slowly.

"Oh, Alfred," he groaned, "it's dangerous. Remember that Hufflepuff from a while ago…?"

"Chill, Mattie," Alfred reassured him with self-righteous confidence. "That was way back when. They've got that shit under control now."

Still Matthew looked unsure. His eyes scanned Alfred's face for and sign of uncertainty.

"If you're sure," he finally conceded, finding none. "Take care, though."

"Never fear! Care is my middle name!"

"Funny, I thought it was Frederick."

"… You're no fun at all, you know."

First chapter of my first multiple-chapter story. I'm going to be putting random canon HP characters as professors; hope that doesn't make anyone murder me in my sleep. If you guys have any ideas, please let me know.

Reviews are pretty nice. (hint hint)


	2. Selection

So Malfoy and the Patil sisters make an appearance… They're temps, okay? I'm not going to make a fool of myself making up teachers.

EDIT: Changed Headmasters like a boss.

The next few weeks passed relatively uneventfully. Arthur busied himself with homework and whatnot while Alfred sat on pins and needles waiting for the names of the Champions to be pulled.

Days dragged by. Alfred lived in constant semi-fear of being selected.

"You know," he said to Arthur, taking a seat next to him in the library, "maybe I shouldn't have entered."

"Mm-hmm."

"Hey! You're supposed to be the supportive best friend!"

"Well, maybe I'm not."

Alfred slumped down in the chair.

"I hate you," he whined. Arthur merely shrugged and checked his watch.

"Time to go," he said, picking up his bag and placing his books back on the shelves. Alfred sighed. They had Defense Against the Dark Arts next and frankly, Alfred found the temporary Professor Malfoy to be quite unnerving.

They turned the corner a few minutes later, arriving in the third-floor classroom. A large prehistoric skeleton hung enchanted above the last few rows of desks and smaller creatures lined the walls in tanks. Curtains had been conjured and drawn so that the room was dark, illuminated only by the greenish light from the tanks.

Arthur sat calmly, Alfred pulling his chair back with trembling hands. Malfoy had done nothing to help his anxiety. Finally,

"I'm tired of this. Slytherins on the left, Gryffindors right."

The teacher emerged from his office. His pale complexion only made his eyes seem more sunken, cheekbones jutting from his face and casting heavy shadows over his jaw. Alfred moved to the far corner, sitting next to Yao. The Chinese boy made no conversation with him but moved his belongings aside to give Alfred a place to sit.

"You've all learnt the basic barrier charms," Malfoy drawled, slouching haughtily in his chair. The light gave his face an unnatural turquoise tint that made him look particularly ill.

"Get your textbooks out. Read chapter eleven. Yes, the whole bloody chapter, Bonnefoy, what else could I have meant? If my father was here…"

He gave his head a violent shake and drummed his fingers against his desk. Alfred reached into his bag, watching Arthur, who sat towards the front of the classroom. His textbook lay open on his desk and he was turning the page already.

"Jones. Textbook. Now. Or am I speaking Latin?"

Alfred flushed and threw the book onto his desk, effectively upsetting the Grindylow in the aquarium beside him. It gave a great bubbly shriek and darted back behind a clump of seaweed. Yao shot Alfred a reprimanding glare.

After Alfred had finished reading the text and earned a detention for merely existing, class ended. He caught up to Arthur, who was already exiting the classroom to go to Divination.

"Hey!" he called, matching Arthur's stride. "What's the rush?"

Arthur sighed, not bothering to slow down.

"The last time we were late, the Patils almost had our heads," he said. "I'd rather not experience their wrath a second time."

They scurried up the steps, Alfred muttering reassurances and Sir Cadogan challenging various portraits to duels. Finally they reached the trapdoor and scurried up, barely making it to their cushioned seats in time.

As much as he enjoyed the supernatural and the like, Arthur had always disliked Divination. It was, in all honesty, a filler class for star-struck girls looking to divine their futures. This, of course, was impossible for them to do themselves. The last known Seer to teach at Hogwarts had been Sibyll Trelawney, and she had long since retired. Now the Patil sisters, two giggling, starry-eyes Indians, had taken up the position.

They were already seated opposite one another at a tiny tea table. Tea—Arthur might actually like this lesson. Padma poured two cups and they sipped at them in dainty elegance until Parvati finally spoke.

"Tea."

A pack of girls in the front row practically swooned.

"So many magical possibilities lie in the leaves themselves," she continued. " Today we will be exploring the divine powers of tea leaves—Ceylon, to be quite precise."

Arthur's nose wrinkled. Would it have killed them to use English Breakfast…? But Parvati carried on.

"The dregs do not form images by happenstance," she elaborated dramatically, sweeping a hand over the empty cup. "Pour tea for yourself and your partner, if you please."

Alfred made a move to grab the pot, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on the lid. Slowly he tipped the spout and filled each china cup two thirds of the way. Alfred spooned in half the sugar bowl and didn't bother to stir until Padma advised him to do so.

"Dude!" he exclaimed after taking a rather large gulp and scalding his tongue. "This shit's freakin' hot!"

"I'm amazed at your wit," replied Arthur snidely, taking smaller sips at a time. The next ten minutes found the class searching their books for some sort of demystification and returning shattered chinaware to the professors. Alfred very nearly broke his cup and saucer and Matthew could be seen telling Gilbert off over a cracked orange tea set.

Dinner came hours later with platters of boiled ham and potatoes. Arthur and Alfred were separated, confined at their respective houses' tables, though no animosity had existed between rival houses for years—that was for Quidditch games.

Headmaster Romulus Vargas stood from his place at the middle of the staff table and ambled over to the winged podium that headed the hall. The Goblet stood behind him in all of its fiery glory, spitting blue sparks every now and then.

"Students, visitors," he started, clearing his throat a bit before continuing. "Faculty. There is a great decision to be made tonight. Three great decisions."

Alfred's face paled and he gripped his fork so that his knuckles went white. He saw Arthur turn to glance at him with an anxious face.

"We call upon the Goblet of Fire to choose our school Champions tonight."

A glance back at the staff before the Headmaster went on.

"Without further ado, the Beauxbatons Champion."

A single scrap of parchment flew from the Goblet into Vargas's outstretched hand. He took it be its singed edges and unfolded it.

"Belle Schoonraad."

A blonde girl cheered and hugged her friends. The Headmaster smiled and addressed the schools again.

"Durmstrang…"

Another piece of paper came and he caught it. It spit a tiny flame at him and he blinked, reading it aloud.

"Ivan Braginski. And now… Hogwarts."

The last piece of paper fluttered out to rest in his palm.

"Alfred Jones."


	3. Interview With a Champion

Students dispersed from the Great Hall in a buzz, chattering about Champions and I wonder what's going to happen and did we have any Potions homework? But Alfred found himself floating high above the lot, not really hearing the crowd but seeing them somehow. He wafted up the staircase to the Gryffindor common room and was stopped by a fierce hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

It was Arthur, come to rain on his parade. Well, Alfred wouldn't let him.

"What do you mean what the hell?" he asked. "I entered!"

"Alfred!" Arthur snapped back. "You know perfectly well what I mean. This is a very dangerous compe-"

"If you're going to feed me that crap about the Hufflepuff," retorted Alfred levelly, "then sorry. Mattie already beat you to the punch."

This for some reason caused Arthur to splutter.

"Feed you- crap? I had no intention, and for your information, it _isn't_ crap."

"You know what?" Alfred asked, eyes narrowing. "You're jealous.

Arthur's face burned a furious scarlet.

"What?" he spat, positively seething. "I thought I had already expressed my distaste for this sort of event!"

But Alfred would have none of it. He brought himself up to his full height and stepped towards his smaller friend, towering over him.

"You wanted your time in the spotlight," he growled. "You could have entered, but you chose not to. You had your chance. I'm the Champion. _Deal with it_."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off towards the Gryffindor common room where Arthur couldn't follow.

"Skrewt," he grumbled. The Fat Lady chuckled and shook her head.

"Password's changed," called Elizabeta, stepping off of a staircase and onto the landing. "It's hinkypunk now."

The portrait swung open for both of them and they clambered ito the firelit room. Matthew looked up from his chess game with Feliks and was about to speak when he was interrupted.

"Hi!" the Pole crowed, waving spastically. "Congratulations on like totally becoming like Champion!"

"Er, yeah," said Alfred, scratching the back of his neck. "Thanks."

Matthew stood up.

"What I said before…" he started as he approached his brother. "It really _is_ a dangerous competition. And not just because that kid died."

There was a pause, broken only by Feliks smoothing his skirt over his knees. Matthew sighed, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder more for his own comfort than anything else. The warm room began to feel very tense.

"So I'll get going now," Alfred mumbled. "Got a page of Transfiguration to do by Wednesday."

He grabbed his bag and went up to the dormitories, flopping face-down onto his bed. Part of him was angry at Arthur for trying to tell him what to do but the other part, the more rational Alfred, argued in Arthurs favor.

_He's only trying to keep you safe._

_I can do that on my own. I don't need him._

_He's still worried about you._

Alfred groaned and rolled onto his back, pouring the contents of his bag out onto himself. His inkwell dinged him painfully on the nose, dripping onto his glasses.

Homework unfinished and belongings spread about, Alfred fell asleep.

.

A month passed. Arthur and Alfred no longer spoke to each other, even in passing. Matthew now bore the task of nagging Alfred, telling him to do his homework, reminding him to get to class on time… it was a tiresome job, Alfred supposed. A job that he would have preferred Arthur in, but if they were fighting, then it wasn't an option. Arthur could have entered if he had wanted to.

Alfred speared a bit of egg with his fork and Matthew flinched, taking a seat beside him..

"How long are you two going to keep this up?" he asked tentatively, even though the answer would be the same as always. Arthur sat at the Slytherin table, sipping his tea and skimming through the Daily Prophet. In a few minutes he would throw it down and mutter profanities directed towards its editors.

"Keep what up, Mattie?" Alfred garbled through a mouthful of half-chewed bacon and toast. Arthur would have beheaded him.

"You two can't keep fighting forever."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

Matthew sighed, unfolding the paper. The matter was dropped and Alfred served himself another slice of toast.

They had a double period of Potions next. Legend had it that one of the previous teachers had been a Death Eater, but the issue was still quite murky. Their current teacher, Professor Finnigan, was a tall Irishman, a former Gryffindor with a tendency towards blowing things up. Today he entered the classroom with one eyebrow. The tips of his hair were singed and the cuffs of his robe smoked.

"Right," he said with a sigh. The class laughed and his tired face formed a scowl.

"Enough laughter, you lot," he muttered. "Today—shut up, Beilschmidt, I try. Today, Gillyweed Elixir."

He glanced at Alfred pointedly, pulling a jar off of a shelf. It contained what looked to be a slimy wad of earthworms that squelched when he pulled it out.

"Merlin's balls," he groaned, face contorted as he held the thing in front of him. "Don't tell your parents I said that. No. _This,"_ the thing writhed in his hand, "is Gillyweed. Disgusting little bugger, but useful nonetheless. Anyone care to tell?"

Arthur's hand was in the air before the question was even out.

"Breathing underwater by way of gills," he said simply. "Sir, we learned this a while ago. Have you updated your curriculum?"

"Ignoring that. Er, ten or so points to Slytherin."

Alfred scowled. Leave it to Arthur to actually study.

"Yes, by itself Gillyweed can be used to grow gills and webbing between your fingers, thus helping you swim and breathe freely underwater. What Kirkland neglected to say is that the weed is a pesky little thing to eat. All those tentacles and whatnot. So what did they decide to do? They made it a drink. Not very easy to prepare, either."

Finnigan slapped the cauldron on his desk. It sloshed around dangerously.

"And now it's a school standard. Go figure. But all that aside, turn to page forty-seven in your books and get to it."

Gillyweed Elixir, as it turned out, was easier in to make in concept as it actually was.

"Dammit," Alfred snapped, having given himself a nasty slice on his finger trying to cut a tentacle off.

"Careful, Jones-san," whispered Kiku from across the table. Alfred smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Kiku," he said. "Guess I'm a bit—"

"Jones?"

Finnigan hurried over with a slightly burnt piece of parchment.

"'eadmaster says to go to the back section of the library. Champions're being interviewed."

With bandaged fingers Alfred took the note and his bag, leaving the classroom.

In the library he met Braginski and Schoonraad. They sat in chairs along the back wall along with a mousy blond man clutching an old camera.

"Are you Alfred Jones?" he asked, fingers tightening on the camera. Alfred nodded dumbly.

"All right!" the man cheered. "Mr. Braginski, if you would please follow me…"

Alfred was the last to be interviewed. He was led into an antechamber by the man, Dennis Creevey, who said that his brother—Gryffindor, too—had known the previous Hogwarts Champion.

The room was small but not uncomfortable. Creevey beckoned for Alfred to sit down, enthusiastically jumping to the first question.

"Okay, Mr. Jones. Why did you enter your name?"

Alfred scratched the back of his head.

"Er… I dunno. I guess it sounded like fun."

He remembered going to the Great Hall with Arthur, scribbling his name on a piece of spare parchment. It seemed like such a long time ago, before they were fighting.

A quill scratching against a notebook tore Alfred from his reverie. Creevey looked up apologetically.

"Sorry. Used to use Quick-Quotes. People found it a tad distracting."

The interview progressed in a mundane haze. Alfred gave short answers wherever mere grunts were insufficient.

"And what is your relationship with Arthur Kirkland?"

Alfred coughed. Creevey thumped him on the back.

"Sorry," Alfred choked, clearing his throat. "Um… Yeah. We've been friends since first year or something. I guess."

This seemed to be enough for Creevey, who scrawled it down on the notepad and stood up. He shook Alfred's hand vigorously and they stepped back into the library. The Champions stood by a window to be photographed and then they were sent on their merry ways.

"Jones-san!"

Alfred craned his head to see a pale hand waving through a pack of other busy students.

"Kiku?" he called back, wading towards the small Japanese boy. "Hey, man! I thought you'd already gone to Herbology."

"I wanted to wait for you," said Kiku quietly, cheeks going slightly pink. He pulled a vial from his pocket and passed it to Alfred. "Finnigan-sensei told me to give this to you when I had a chance."

Alfred took it, turning it over in his palm. It was filled with a dark green liquid that bubbled repulsively when he shook it. This is the Gillyweed Elixir from Potions, Alfred realized. What an odd thing to give him.

"Jones-san?" Kiku ventured, cocking his head. "Are you going to Transfiguration now?"

Alfred nodded and the two made their way back to the corridor, Kiku leaving to attend his Advanced Herbology lesson and Alfred taking the staircases to the second floor.

Kiku seemed nice. Kind of quiet, but that was the perfect foil to Alfred's boisterousness. Admittedly, he was becoming more reserved in Arthur's absence.

_I can take care of myself,_ Alfred raged, hold on the vial turning almost dangerous. He pushed through a group of second-years as e ascended the staircase and they clung to the railing in a terrified mass. His wand was heavy in his pocket and he fought the uncontrollable urge to hex someone.

"So you've finally decided to come to class," the Transfiguration professor drawled as Alfred slunk into his seat. "Pity."

Professor Claus Beilschmidt was rumored to be the grandfather of the German brothers, Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt. He denied this relation vehemently. He did look rather young for his age, though, but anti-aging potions were not uncommon in this day and age.

"Kirkland. Attention."

With a start, Alfred saw Arthur raise his head from his desk. The normally focused student had dark rings around his eyes and his face was unusually pale. But he shook his head, hair falling around his face, and Beilschmidt turned back to the chalkboard.

"Very well, then," he sighed, tucking a stray blond braid behind his ear. He scratched a diagram of a frog turning into a tea kettle and gave a perfect, wordless demonstration.

Twenty minutes later, Alfred's frog had sprouted wings and Arthur hadn't so much as looked at his. He looked almost ready to vomit—not that Alfred cared at all, of course, he was just noticing. But still, Alfred couldn't help but wonder what had happened; the part of his vying for Arthur's friendship ached.

Delay, delay, delay. Sorry guys, I think I've gone and murdered all of my plotbunnies or something. Wrote this after STAR testing, so… yeah. Probably doesn't make any sense.

It was Bailey's birthday on Wednesday! She got some Copic markers… lucky bitch. Love you, Bailey!


End file.
